


Nightmare

by Gwynne



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:28:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwynne/pseuds/Gwynne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ivan has a nightmare...</p><p> This is an AU that starts just after the events of The Vor Game.</p><p> </p><p>(I apologise for some of the language used here. I don't normally use those words, but they were necessary for the story.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ivan has a nightmare. It happens every night after he falls asleep.

Ivan dreams……

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Ivan Vorpatril, newly-minted young ensign, was revelling in his life as a very junior officer in Vorbarr Sultana. He had his own apartment, his shiny red aircar, a whole city full of receptive women (and when it came to receptive women, Lady Donna Vorrutyer seemed to be taking quite an interest in him). Yes, indeed, life was very good. And with Miles safely off-planet somewhere he was able to relax and enjoy life. 

They came for him in the night. He woke up in a confused panic to find two large, dark shapes looming beside his bed. He blinked, and although it was too dim to see their uniforms properly, he could see the glint of horus eyes on their collars. 

Clothes were tossed onto the bed, the uniform he’d shed that evening. Worldlessly he scrambled into the stiff, still-new uniform. Uneasy prickles crawled between his shoulder blades as the silent men watched him get dressed. 

So, it was happening. Ivan felt cold fear, then a seed of resentment began to grow. From the time he was old enough to understand why his father died he’d learned to be careful. An idiot. A safe, bystanding, non-rebelling idiot. And he’d been looking forward to being a nice, harmless idiot for many years to come. 

It seemed that plan had just failed. 

Why did they wait so long? Why did they wait until he’d finished at the Academy, started his career, finally felt that he was on his quiet, harmless track? He’d been so careful, he’d never scored too high or too low at the Academy, he’d taken care to be a follower, never a leader. He thought he was safe, he thought everyone saw him as safe, as harmless. Why now? What had changed?

Ivan turned towards the bathroom. One of the shadows moved towards him. Ivan paused, “Depilate.” He’d be damned if he wasn’t well-groomed to face whatever was coming. The men stilled again, both of them waiting like well-trained guard dogs as he prepared himself. At least he’d look good, whatever happened.

His escort fell in beside him as they walked him down to a waiting groundcar. Black, shiny, anonymous, and no doubt shielded in fifteen different ways. 

Ivan didn’t ask questions. These weren’t the ones who’d do the talking with him, if anyone did. He didn’t even consider trying to escape. He’d had special training on how to fight free in dangerous situations. And it wouldn’t do a blind bit of good because ImpSec had trained him, and ImpSec had just taken him prisoner. 

Besides, he couldn’t do that. Honour wouldn’t allow it. He was bound by his oaths of military obedience, and of loyalty to Gregor. 

Ivan fanned the flame of anger. How could they do this to him? He’d never even considered anything treasonous, except when Miles dragged him into something, and that didn’t count. He’d behaved, he’d been as harmless as he possibly could. Innocent bystander, it was his creed, his ambition and his refuge. And his disguise. His ambition was zero. He was no threat to Gregor, to the Imperium, he was as nothing as possible. 

But they’d come for him, silently, in the middle of the night. 

Ivan tried to keep the anger alive, to counter the chill fear. 

Cockroach Central. Still in silence he strode into the building, flanked by his silent escort. He hesitated after he entered, wondering where he was headed – cells? Interrogation rooms? But no, he was taken on the twisted route to Simon Illyan’s office. 

His escort stopped at the doorway, Ivan had marched on into the office before he realised he’d shed them.

Simon Illyan was standing beside his desk, the spider lurking in the centre of his unprepossessing web. Ivan snapped to crisp military attention. Damn them all, he’d take whatever was coming and wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. 

“Ivan.” Illyan took a breath, “Ivan… sit down. Please.”

Not what he expected, but any moment he wasn’t being executed was a good moment. Ivan sat, carefully. Illyan didn’t move around his desk, instead he took a few aimless steps across the office, it seemed as if he was searching for words. 

“Ivan… some things have been happening.”

Ivan relaxed for the first time since he woke in fright, “What’s Miles done now?”

Illyan almost smiled for a moment, then was back to dead serious, “This time it’s not Miles.” He shook his head to clear it, then went on, “As you know, Gregor recently went on an official visit to Komarr.”

Ivan nodded, “He’s been sick since then hasn’t he? Staying down at Vorkosigan Surleau.” A new fear was growing now, “He’s… he’s not… how sick is he?”

“He’s fine. Healthy. Fit and well.” It should have been reassuring, but the tone was wrong. Ivan waited, not sure he wanted to hear whatever was coming. Anything that had Simon Illyan dithering like this could never be good. “Gregor went to Komarr. Yes. And while he was there someone told him… he heard…. He found out … the truth. About Serg.”

Ivan nodded, “He had to know sooner or later. Should have told him years ago, although I suppose they were always worried about how it’d affect his worries about Yuri. So… how did he take it?”

“Not very well. He got drunk and disappeared.”

“Went on a bender, did he? Might have done him some good, he needs to loosen up a bit.”

“Disappeared. He didn’t come back.” Simon’s voice was level, and very very calm. Or controlled, at least. Sort of defusing-this-dangerous-bomb calm.

Ivan frowned, “But he’s at Vorkosigan Surleau now, yes? You got him back, right? You can’t… you didn’t lose the damn emperor, did you?” His voice was rising towards panic.

“Vorkosigan Surleau is hosting a lookalike, we had to cover up for as long as we could. Gregor made his way to the docks and signed on to an outbound vessel as navigator. They dumped him on Jackson’s Whole, where he was arrested as a vagrant and sold as indentured labour to a space station in the Hegen Hub.”

Ivan was beyond comment. From anyone else he’d call this a joke, but ImpSec personnel didn’t possess a whimsical sense of humour. 

Illyan’s monotone continued, “Miles was on an intelligence-gathering mission, in a supporting role. He ditched his superior officer, found Gregor by getting himself arrested by the Jacksonians, travelled with Gregor to the space station, somehow linked up with his Dendarii Mercenaries again… I won’t go through the rest of the details now, it gets complicated, you can read the reports later. Suffice it to say Miles eventually retrieved Gregor.”

“Alive? Safe?”

“Alive and safe, yes.”

“Hegen Hub.. wait, there was a Cetagandan incursion going on there – the Prince Serg was there… Uncle Aral was there…”

“Yes, that added to the excitement. Miles and his mercenaries… as I say, you can read all the reports later. Aral was in the right place at just about the right time, Barrayar is everybody’s friend now, a happy ending all round.”

Ivan was sitting very still listening to that level voice. Happy didn’t sound like this. “So… we won a war, everyone’s alive and well, we’ve retrieved our lost emperor, Gregor had himself a nice little adventure which will do him the world of good… so why did I get the supremely early wakeup call?.”

“Gregor isn’t coming back.”

Ivan heard the words, but his brain didn’t want to process them.

Illyan waited, then when he got no reaction he repeated impatiently, “Gregor isn’t coming back.”

Ivan shook his head, “He doesn’t get a choice, he’s the damn emperor. It’s not something you can walk away from. Miles and Uncle Aral are both there – between them they can stun him, drug him, lock him in a cabin, whatever it takes, and bring him the hell back here again!” He was getting louder as he went on, as the panic took over, “He can’t just not be emperor any more, it’s what he does, what he is. And he can’t turn his back on it... on us… on Barrayar…”

“Gregor feels that he’s not to be trusted. Yuri and a mad grandmother were bad enough, but Serg… Gregor feels that the… the problems…are too close, too dangerous. For the sake of Barrayar he’s handing over the Imperium and walking away.”

“Bloody stop him!” 

“We can’t, we’re sworn to obey him.”

“Well if he stops being the emperor you’re not sworn to him, so you can…”

“Bring him back and force him to be emperor again? Then if he’s emperor we have to obey him, and let him go… it gets a bit circular after that".

Take a deep breath. Stay calm. Ignore the voice screaming inside your head. “So…what is he going to do?”

“For a start, he’s going to Beta. We’ll fix him up with a new identity and a comfortable bank account, and he’ll spend some time getting his head, or his genetics, sorted out and repaired. Plus a new face. He’ll stay with Countess Vorkosigan’s mother until he’s … fixed. And able to build a new life there."

“Can’t he get fixed and come back? Uncle Aral can be regent again. We’re all used to that.” Desperate hope flickered.

“Barrayar can’t wait for months or maybe years. And you know what the Counts are like, they’d never trust anyone who’d had heavy-duty Betan therapy.”

“Most of the damn Counts NEED heavy-duty Betan therapy. We should get a team in and go for a group discount.” Some of the thoughts he’d been trying to avoid crept in, “So how are you going to break the news to Barrayar? This isn’t going to be an easy sell.”

“We have to ensure stability. That’s the most important thing. We can’t let this cause unrest. We need continuity. Stability. Security. We’ll have to present this in a way that people will understand and accept, we can’t allow another Vordarian or Vordrozda. We have to keep Barrayar safe. Gregor… Gregor can’t ever come back. We can’t hang in limbo for months or years, we can’t have the constant threat of challenges or pretenders, we can’t let the new emperor be saddled with a constant threat of Gregor’s return hanging over his head. It has to be a clean break. Gregor knows that. He’s gone for good.”

“Fuck.”

“Yes.”

Silence for a few moments. The sort of noisy silence of a lot of thoughts running around inside his head, “So… we have Uncle Aral as emperor after all.”

“No.”

Ivan had been afraid, he’d been angry, he’d been scared and confused. None of that was close to what he started to feel at that moment, a growing horror seasoned with blind panic. “So we have Emperor Miles? Thanks for the warning, I might move to Escobar for a few decades.”

“No.”

That panic wasn’t looming any more, it was dancing around him in circles and waving streamers.

“We’re going to turn into a republic? Beta will be pleased.”

Illyan didn’t bother to answer that one.

Silence. Ivan checked out the distance to the door. Even if he could take Illyan, which would never happen, he had zero chance of getting past the chuckles twins on the other side of the door. Not to mention the entire personnel of ImpSec who were currently between him and the outer doors. He knew now why the office had no windows. Dammit, wasn’t there a building code about these things?

He broke first, nobody could out-silence Illyan. “I don’t... I won’t…”

Illyan nodded, briskly businesslike, “Aral is on his way back with most of the fleet. Miles and his Dendarii mercenaries are escorting Gregor to Beta to see him settled in. Miles has become Admiral Naismith again, it seems that he’s more use to us that way. I hope so, he’s running out of commanding officers. He’ll return in a few months, when everything’s safely settled.”

Stubborn rearguard action, “Uncle Aral. He’s done the job. He’s got the best claim. He’s got the support. He’s… he’s ARAL BLOODY VORKOSIGAN, dammit. It’s got to be him.”

“No. He doesn’t want the job. And there’s too many who’d oppose him – he could deal with them but it’d take too much time and energy. We need a smooth changeover. Someone younger.”

“Miles. He’s next in line.”

“It would be very difficult to sell Miles to the Empire. Not just because of his appearance, but also because he would be an utter disaster as emperor. Miles needs someone to serve. Serving the whole Imperium would tear him apart, if it didn’t tear the Empire apart first. Miles knows this himself. He’s in agreement with Aral on this one.”

Ivan lurched to his feet, “Fine. Ask the Counts to pick someone. Hold a raffle, draw a name out of a hat. Give them disruptors and let them shoot it out and take the last man standing.”

“Ivan – “

“Aral said no. Miles said no. I can bloody say no too.”

“It’s too late.”

“I’ll go to fucking Beta and get some therapy of my own. I’ll – I won’t – no!”

“This was Gregor’s last order to you. He recorded a vid for you, you’ll see it later today. Right now we have to get moving.”

Half an hour ago Ivan would have done anything to avoid entering this building. Now he was prepared to fight to stop being forced out. “What’s the rush? We need to talk about this, there must be alternatives. Something.”

“Ivan… I’m sorry. But you have no choice.”

“NO!” Ivan started pacing. “I don’t want this! You can’t dump the damn empire on me!”

“It’s because you don’t want it that you’re right for the job. And you’ll have Aral as your Prime Minister. You’ll have me. We’ll do everything we can to help you.” He was herding Ivan inexorably towards the door.

“What’s the rush?”

“Komarran terrorists have killed the emperor.”

“Wha-“

Illyan eased him through the door, talking kin a low, calming tone. “A very useful group of rather ineffectual Komarran would-be terrorists, backed by some slightly more efficient and dangerous political interests, have been looking for some way to make themselves famous. We managed to head them off from blowing up the Vorbarr Sultana Symphony Orchestra, and we were monitoring them to see who’s funding them – they’ve proved remarkably productive. We’ve found several other, more efficient, terrorist cells because of them. They were sniffing around Vorkosigan Surleau, so yesterday we leaked the information to them that the emperor was returning to Vorbarr Sultana sometime during the night, for safety. And they managed to get a bomb on board the aircar – it took some organisation to give them a window of opportunity, but we managed. We had to tinker with their bomb a bit, too, but eventually we made it work. The aircar exploded an hour ago, and five minutes after the explosion the terrorists were on the public vid system, claiming the credit.”

Ivan halted, “Exploded? But –“

“It was a drone. No personnel on board.” 

“And the terrorists?”

“We’ve already rounded them up.”

The rest of that long, long day passed in a blur for Ivan, with only a few moments held fast in his memory. 

The aircar trip to the Residence, watching the morning traffic in the city. He’d never have to worry about that again. In fact, he’d probably never drive himself again. 

Being hustled through the corridors of the Residence. This was his home now. He wouldn’t ever see his nice, compact, private apartment again.

Quickly discovering that you can’t turn yourself invisible when you’re the one everyone is watching. He’d never be an innocent bystander again.

Never again, never again…never see Gregor again, and that thought hurt so much more than he’d expected. Gregor, his dark, quiet cousin. Poor Gregor, stuck with such a rotten job. Gregor always patient with his younger cousins. Gregor, gone. Never again.

He’d never be able to dally with giggling girls again, enjoying the chase. No girl could refuse him now, so he couldn’t ask. Never again.

He’d been enjoying his job, he liked the flow charts and the data. He liked sorting things into neat groups. Now he’d be the one who had to make the decisions after someone else did the sorting. He had to take responsibility. He couldn’t pass the job to someone else. Never again.

Illyan could probably sense his rising panic. “Aral will be back tomorrow. We wanted to time it carefully, we didn’t want him near Komarr at this time, it would only make things worse. And we didn’t want him on-planet, his enemies can’t try to pin any blame on him. You’re going to make a public vid announcement, that the Emperor has been killed. Then you’ll take over, just as an interim measure. When Aral gets back he’ll confirm you as Emperor. After the vid you’ll call an emergency meeting of the Council of Counts. It won’t achieve anything, but they need to feel useful. And it’ll keep them all busy in one place so that none of them can be off somewhere plotting.”

One moment really did stand out in his memory. They brought him the script for his vid announcement, and his House uniform. Ivan balked, “No. I’m already in uniform.”

“Your House uniform –“

“I earned this one. I’ll wear my dress greens.” It was a tiny victory, but it gave him a much-needed ray of light.

Making the vid announcement was horrific. He tried to read the words without taking in their meaning. The Council of Counts was eerily quiet. Nobody wanted to commit to anything, or put themselves forward. They were all shocked, and seemed to be genuinely grieved. 

After the painful CoC meeting Ivan was almost finished. Grimly silent Vorbarra armsmen ushered him to a private room to take a break. Just as he was relaxing into the chair the door swung wide and the room suddenly seemed full of noise and bustle – “Mamere - Aunt Cordelia – uh…”

“It’s ok, kiddo, we know.” Aunt Cordelia nodded, “I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry, too. We could never give Gregor peace, or freedom. I’m glad he finally found it for himself.”

“At some cost!” Ivan glared at her, then turned to embrace his mother, “Mamere, we have to find a way to stop this.”

“I tried, Ivan.” Alys sighed, “I tried, but Simon persuaded me that there’s no alternative. I’m so sorry.”

Cordelia nodded, “There’s no other way. Aral will support you every way he can. But if Aral took over, there’d always be whispers and suspicion. Nobody suspects you.”

“Well thank you so very much. I think. But I don’t WANT this!” It was a wail of sheer panic.

Alys bustled around getting tea, cakes, and reassurance. Finally, when peace descended, Cordelia settled on the couch beside Ivan and patted his arm, “I know you don’t want it, but I also know you can do it. I’ve known you all your life. And I’ve seen your Academy results.”

Ivan shrugged, “I did my best.”

“Yes, you did. And your best was very impressive. You scored eighty-five percent, give or take a point or two, in every test.”

“Well, I’m not one of those clever types who get full marks.”

“That’s the funny thing – the clever types get full marks on some tests, but not on all of them. Someone who’s brilliant at navigation scores low on history. The cadet with a perfect score in marksmanship is terrible at languages. Strengths and weaknesses, But you – you scored the same on every test, physical or academic. It takes a great deal of skill to do that.”

Ivan stared at her.

“Ivan,” Cordelia spoke gently, “You don’t need to hide any more. Not from us. Although you might find it useful to surprise the Counts now and then."

He had people on his side. That got him through the rest of the day.

And then there was more bustle, and a sense that everyone was suddenly even more alert, and Uncle Aral arrived, on a fast courier boosting way past its safe level. 

Uncle Aral was here. Everything would be alright now.

They met in one of the larger Drawing Rooms. Aral Vorkosigan strode towards Ivan, who waited nervously. Surely Uncle Aral would take over now, he’d sort out this huge mistake. 

Aral Vorkosigan marched up to him – and sank to one knee. He knelt down and raised his hands to put them between Ivan’s, and give his oath. Dimly Ivan realised that the others had waited so that Aral could be the first to take his oath of loyalty to the new Emperor.

Uncle Aral, Aunt Cordelia, Simon Illyan and Lady Alys. Even his own mother gave the oath. Ivan felt sick to his stomach. 

And trapped. Word by word they nailed his coffin shut. 

He transmitted vids to Komarr and Sergyar. Assuring his Komarran subjects that he didn’t blame them for the actions of a few, misguided individuals He sent messages summoning the Counts to the Residence in two day’s time to give their oaths. He read reports, gave orders – or confirmed Uncle Aral’s orders at least. Days rushed by as he trod water, expecting at any moment to drown.

A week after Emperor Gregor was assassinated they held his full state funeral. Ivan didn’t try to hide his tears, as he grieved for the friend he’d never see again and the life he’d lost. 

Two weeks after Emperor Gregor was assassinated there was a huge ceremony, with full vid coverage, of the coronation of Emperor Ivan Vorpatril Vorbarra. Ivan stood in his new, unfamiliar Vorbarra House uniform and stayed blank to cover his misery, and fear. His invisibility didn’t work any more, but it had become a useful blankness that hid any emotion. 

Emperor Ivan, of the Barrayaran empire. Ruler of three planets. 

No escape.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Every night Ivan dreams this dream. It’s always the same. Every night there’s the rude awakening, the trip to Cockroach Central, the news about Gregor, and after a long, miserable struggle there’s the acceptance that he can’t escape his doom.

But that’s not the nightmare. 

 

Every morning after dreaming that dream, Ivan opens his eyes. 

And he looks around his bedroom, the Imperial Bedroom in the Residence. Then Ivan Vorpatril Vorbarra, Emperor of Barrayar, gets ready to face the day.

And that’s when the nightmare begins. It begins after he realises that the dream was real.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know it's bad when Miles is the comforting, sensible one.

“If you call me Sire I swear I’ll hit you.”

Miles paused to survey his new emperor. Then he took a deep breath, “Ivan, you idiot, you know you can’t hit me – if you break me then Simon will be very displeased with you. He’ll look at you in silence. He might even shake his head a little. Do you really want to risk that?”

Emperor Ivan Vorpatril Vorbarra sighed, “He might even go tut, tut. You’re right, it’s not worth the minor satisfaction. But still…. Just don’t.”

Miles shrugged, “Always happy to obey.”

Ivan snorted and led the way out to a table set on a sunlit balcony. Silent servants hurried to produce coffee, several kinds of tea, cream cakes, fruit tarts, and a dizzying variety of dainties. Ivan stared at them gloomily as Miles started nibbling. 

“How is he?”

Miles glanced around to be sure that the servants were out of the way, “He’s settled in well on Beta. Staying with Grandmere Elizabeth, and enjoying life in a tiny apartment instead of…” He waved an arm in the direction of the sprawling Residence. “He seems to find the therapy a great relief – at last he can be totally honest. They found a therapist who can be trusted – the Betans take their confidentiality rules seriously. Which is good, because otherwise they’d lock him up somewhere until they cure him of the delusion that he was an emperor. Ex-emperor.” His voice trailed away. 

“But….how is he, really?” 

“He – I’ve never seen him like it before. He’s…. he’s happy. It’s as if he’s free at last. He’s not gloomy Gregor any more.”

“Of course he’s free. He got rid of a huge weight by dumping it on me.” Ivan was almost snarling.

Miles studied him for a moment, “If it’s really too much… we can find someone else.”

“You?”

“They’d never accept me, and you know it. Besides… my particular talents are better in another role. But I’m sure that someone else would step up. Vordarian’s heirs? Or Vordrozda’s?”

“Over my dead body.”

There was a pause as they both realised that that was absolutely true. Ivan shuddered. 

Miles went into cheer-up mode, “One funny thing – they did a gene workup on him and it turns out that there’s nothing wrong genetically, at all. You’d think with Mad Great-Uncle Yuri and Loony Grandmother and then a father like Serg… but apparently none of it was genetic, he’s fine. It seems that it was all situational.”

Ivan stared at him in silence for a moment, then shook his head, “If that’s your idea of cheering me up, you suck at it.”

“Oh. Yeah, right. Well… you’re different to him. Besides, you weren’t stuck with this when you were five.”

“If I decided to follow his example and make a run for Beta, what are my chances?”

“The armsmen would stun you without hesitation. ImpSec would use tangle-fields and shock-sticks. And then you’d have to face Illyan. And my father.” 

“I could just Imperially order them to let me run…?”

“You can look Illyan and my father in the eye and order that?”

“Damn.”

Silence, punctuated by nibbling. 

Miles sighed, “He loved cream cakes. I hope he finds a good Betan bakery.”

“Stop now before we’re both too maudlin.”

“Yes Sire.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes…… “ Miles nibbled another cream cake, “…..but it’s going to be strange.”

“What is? Silence from you? Very true.”

“No, I mean… getting used to you as emperor. Giving you my oath.”

Ivan threw himself back in his chair, “For heaven’s sake, Miles! We have dungeons here, you know. One more comment like that and – “

Miles held up his hands in surrender, “I hear and obey.”

“You hear and completely ignore, more like.”

Miles managed to look hurt, “Ivan, I’m…”

“Miles, I know exactly what you are.” It was a relief to glare at each other, falling back into the comfortable old pattern for a moment. Then Ivan sighed, “Tell me about the Dendarii.”

Miles frowned, “You’re not going to… I mean, it’s working well now. Ivan, I can make it work, I give you my name’s oath on it.”

Ivan waved him back to his chair, “I know, don’t jump at me. I just want to know what it’s like. How you manage it all.”

So for the next hour Miles explained it all, described the personalities, shared his worries, gloried in his fleet’s successes. He took Ivan through the minutia of it all – the accountants, the legal department, the amazingly complex structure of the fleet where some vessels were owned by their captains, some were fleet property, some were leased, some were acquired in shadier ways. The problems of day to day command, the training, the constant pressure to keep all the members of the fleet fed and clothed and healthy.

Ivan loved every moment – partly because, for a while, he could leave his own problems far behind. And partly because it was so interesting to see Miles this way – few people realised how much planning and organisation went on behind the apparently random moments of genius. 

But, finally, a hovering armsman caught their attention, “You have an appointment with your Prime Minister, Sire.” 

Ivan sighed and stood up obediently. Miles fell into step beside him as Ivan headed for the dreary official office. “So, how’s it all going?”

“How do you think?” Ivan understood now why Gregor had been so glum. “I sit Imperially, and totally uselessly, while your father and Simon pretend to have a meeting with me. Then I Imperially sign all their suggestions as my Imperial own, and they go off and do it all while I sit there Imperially and do bugger all. And then, if I’m really lucky, there’s some sort of reception or dinner or ball or whatever in the evening, and my Imperial valet gets me all gussied up and I go and stand around like a stuffed fish while my mother parades every Vor virgin she can find past me and I do my level best to get drunk enough to fall asleep when I finally get to bedd. And the next day I get to do it all again. And again. And…” His voice had risen to a snarl. 

Miles was quiet for a moment, which normally would worry Ivan, but he was too far gone in the contemplation of his personal purgatory to notice.

“So… don’t.”

Ivan glared down at him, “So don’t what?”

“Don’t just sit there. Ask questions. Tell them what you want. Do something.”

Somehow the armsmen were hustling them along the corridors while seeming to totally ignore the conversation.

“What I want to do is run far and fast.”

“What else?”

“I want this all to stop. I want it to go back the way it was. I want…”

“Remember when we spent our school holidays at Vorkosigan Surleau? When we talked about what we were going to do when we got older?”

Ivan shrugged, “Sure. You were going to be Vorthalia the Bold, saving the Empire. I was just trying to keep everyone safe and happy.”

“So do that.”

Ivan planted his feet firmly in the plush carpet, resisting the armsmenorial urgings. “Do what? Stop you from blowing up a Cetagandan arms stockpile? Or driving an ancient but-not-dead-yet tank? Or digging a hole and burying us all accidently? Miles, you’re making me really miss the good old days.”

“Safe and happy. Ivan, your job now is to keep the whole Empire safe and happy.”

“I can order the armsmen to shoot you, you know. Even if it’s only stunners it’d make me feel better.”

“I live to serve. But seriously, Ivan, think of something you’d like to get done, and do it. Or make someone else do it.”

Somehow the hallway was moving past them again, “Think of what? Miles….” Imperial panic was looming.

Miles was once again grateful that the camp-stool had passed him by, although he felt a twinge of guilt that it had fallen so hard on Ivan. 

“Ivan, think about being in Ops.”

“I do! All the time! It doesn’t help, it just reminds me of everything I’ve lost.”

“Focus, Ivan. Ops. The last vid you sent me – well, it was mostly about your latest girl, and latest party, and latest hangover… but you also mentioned some things you were learning about being in Ops. Something about distribution of necessary materials, and staff upgrading, and the tendering process for that new space platform.”

“Process? Dirty dealings, more like. I’m sure that someone was passing inside information to that consortium of Vorkaropoulos’s. And I think they have Jacksonian backing, too, although they don’t acknowledge it. But I saw Vorkaropoulos’s younger brother out on the town with the Jacksonian representative from House Bharaputra. Slimy sod. I know their bid looked good on paper, but some of the fine print went past really quickly. And Admiral Stinson keeps pushing their bid – he’s due to retire in under a year, and suddenly his wife is telling ma mere about a luxury Nexus cruise they’re planning, and a holiday home on the South Continent. And she’s buying gowns from the same dressmaker as ma mere, and I know what they cost, and what an Admiral makes, and - ” 

Miles nodded happily, “So you are going to request and require some deeper investigation into the tendering process?”

“Uh… Miles, I can’t say that to … to your father.”

“Why not? It’s your job to keep an eye on things.”

“But…”

“And what were you saying about distribution of necessary materials?”

“Oh, well, all the new equipment has to go through the spaceport in Vordarian’s District, but it’d be so much faster to use the military base in Fort Kithera instead – we’d bypass all the bottlenecks in the public port. We could divert all military cargo to the main platform, and all we’d need is to increase the shuttle rate – most of them are half-empty anyway, taking handfuls of men up there to their ships or bringing them down for leave. I worked out the numbers roughly, and it’d save a lot of time and hassle, but it didn’t get past my colonel, he said that they’re locked into a deal with Vordarian’s District to use the port there, but it comes up for renewal next year, and we could – “

“And staff upgrading?”

“Oh, that was just an idea I had… do you realise how little training some of the older personnel have? And how much new equipment, and totally new systems, have been put in place just in the last few years? Gregor and your father were upgrading the whole fleet, bringing it into line with the new systems they developed for the Prince Serg, but it’s very different to the old stuff. Some of the older officers can barely use the new vid-consoles, they leave it all up to the new graduates from the Academy because we’ve got the most recent training. Miles in an emergency we’d lose so much time. And they don’t know what the ships can do – they don’t use half of the features of the new surveillance and processing programs, even in Ops, and I hear that it’s worse in the fleet. They cover it up, but I chatted to some of the guys from our graduating class, and they told me… not that I get to chat with them now…”

“So we need a whole new training program for established officers. Or a wave of early retirements. Maybe something that won’t be too confronting for the Old Guard, but will get them updated… it needs some thought...”

“Well, we could – “ 

The armsmen flung open the doors to the conference room with a flourish. Miles glimpsed his father and Simon standing near the coffee machine. Essential supplies before the session, no doubt. 

“Go get ‘em… Sire.” He nudged Ivan through the doors, then stepped back. “You’ll do fine.”

“Miles…” 

The doors closed slowly and silently.:

Miles trod away down the corridor, humming happily. It was good to serve. 

Now, what else could he do to cheer Ivan up?


	3. Ivan the....?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after Ivan-You-Emperor by Zoya1416

Ivan lay in the darkness and glared at the invisible ceiling. Now he had two nightmares. One was being dragged into this rotten job in the first place, and the new one was today. Aral and Simon kneeling to him. Ordering them. Demanding resignation letters, threatening to send Aral to Sergyar… 

Was he power-crazed? Was he going to end up like Ezar, with everyone dropping to their knees in his presence? Ordering Aral and Simon to kneel – he was a worse megalomaniac than Miles at his most intense. He imagined Cordelia kneeling to him – it was horrible. And his mother…

Fine. Three nightmares.

Ivan didn’t sleep much that night.

Next morning the armsmen came in to wake him, dress him and feed him his breakfast as usual. Most of them had been with Gregor from the time he was five, and seemed to assume a new emperor was a baby emperor. 

Ivan obediently woke, staggered to the bathroom, managed his morning ablutions all by himself – overseen in silence by his valet and just one armsman – and headed back to the bedroom. Another armsman waited by the bed where today’s clothes were already laid out, ready to escort him all the way into the next room, and the breakfast that was laid out ready.

Silver gleamed on black, the intricate pattern of the most formal Vorbarra House uniform. He’d worn that black and silver every day since the nightmare began.

Today… he balked. Ivan stopped in the middle of the room. “I’ll wear a civilian suit today. The navy blue.” They’d given him a whole new wardrobe of Imperial disguises that he hadn’t even seen yet. 

The valet twitched slightly, “Sire, it’s important that everyone knows…er….”

“I think they all know I’m the emperor by now. And if it takes a jacket to do the job, you can stuff that coat with a pillow and sit it up on my chair. I’m the emperor no matter what I’m wearing.” Or not wearing, he realised. Oh well, if he could stand here in his underpants and boss a valet around, the rest of the empire wouldn’t be a challenge. “Now, I’ve been dressing myself for the last twenty years, I can manage for one more day. Out please, all of you.” He waved in what he hoped was an Imperial fashion, and watched as the valet and armsmen filed out, stiffly but blessedly silently.

Definitely power-crazed. He sighed and accomplished the amazing feat of dressing himself. 

Breakfast… and today there was no grapefruit and bran muffin already on the table. Ivan paused and glanced at the nearest hovering armsman. 

“Sire, what would you like for breakfast this morning?”

So Emperor Ivan had sausages and bacon, and to hell with the cholesterol.

On a wave of Imperial satisfaction, Ivan strode into his office, and froze. 

Lying on his desk, the only two items on the shining expanse of polished mahogany, were two documents. Ivan started to regret the sausages as he crept around the desk and sat down carefully, as far from the desk as he could manage.

He was looking at two resignation letters. Signed, but not dated. 

Simon’s was a printed flimsy, a single sentence of neat type in the middle of the page, with a tidy signature on the bottom. 

Aral’s was on old-fashioned parchment. Hand written. It started with Ivan’s titles – not a very large paragraph. Then several sentences of dignified resignation. And then a flourishing signature and a much, much larger paragraph listing all of Aral’s positions and titles. 

Two totally different approaches, a single result. Rebuke, protest, dignified compliance, and somehow they each made him feel like a toddler who’d thrown a tantrum. 

But… no. He’d done what was necessary. Being Emperor sucked, but being an ineffectual Emperor would be even worse. 

Ivan sighed and stowed the letters in the lowest desk drawer, sparing a moment to admire the way each man had raised passive-aggression to an art form. 

The Emperor needed coffee. 

He glanced up as the office door swung open silently. It was Kirilov, Gregor’s… Ivan’s… senior armsman. He’d been sworn as armsman to Ezar – the last one left of that regime. The man was superb, silent and – and nothing. Ivan had no idea what he was thinking. He hadn’t had time to get to know the armsmen … his armsmen. One more item on his long list of ‘Imperial stuff I haven’t done yet’. 

They probably sat around in the ready room and laid bets on how long he’d last, or at least how long before he stuffed up supremely. 

Ivan tried to look Imperially alert and hoped for coffee. Kirilov, superb man, placed a steaming cup on that intimidating desk. 

“Thank you.” Ivan was proud of himself, he’d managed to murmur thanks before he dived into the coffee. 

As he slurped gratefully he realised that Kirilov was still there. He glanced up – the man was standing to attention. “Mmmffn?” 

“Sire, I wish to be released from my oath.”

Ivan resisted the urge to bang his head on the desk. “Kirilov… “ What do you say? Please give me more time? I’ll improve, I just need… I know I’ll never be Gregor but … Oh dear Lord, they all knew about his last session with Aral and Simon. Ivan the Tantrum-thrower, how’s that for an emperor?

“Kirilov I.. .I’m sure that… I hope you don’t feel…” He petered out into miserable silence. Ivan the Mumbler?

“Sire, I was about to ask Emperor Gregor to release me from my oaths before the regrettable event. It’s high time I retired, to let a younger and more active man take on the position. I just waited until I was sure.”

“And you’re sure now. You don’t wish to serve under me.” Ivan the Failure, that’s what they’d call him. 

“I’m sure, Sire.” Kirilov nodded at him, almost fatherly for a moment, “You’ll do fine. I can retire without any worries.” 

For a moment Ivan couldn’t speak at all. “….fine? I… I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing!”

“Yes, you do. You know what needs to be done, and you do it. Don’t worry, lad, you’re learning fast.” He nodded comfortably, “Just follow your instincts. You’ll be a fine emperor.”

It took just a few moments for Kirilov to kneel and place his hands between Ivan’s, and then for Ivan to get through the words that released him from his oath. Kirilov prompted him a couple of times. There was an awkward moment as Ivan tried to thank the man for his long service to the Imperium, but somehow Kirilov eased him through it, and then he was gone. 

Ivan had barely sat down again when Aral and Simon marched into the room and came to attention by his desk. He grabbed for his cooling coffee and glared at them both, “If you want an apology, you’re not getting it.”

Aral nodded, “Quite right. You are the Emperor, after all. Sire.”

“I did what I had to do.” Ivan was trying to ride the wave, but he had a suspicion there were rocks ahead.

“Shall I warn Cordelia, and your mother, to expect similar treatment?”

Silence for a moment, then… “For God’s sake, Uncle Aral, that’s not funny!”

And then, peace restored, they settled down for another briefing. Ivan managed to ask a few intelligent questions before he agreed with everything Aral and Simon had planned. And then the last item…

“You don’t need to do it. I’ll stand in for you, or one of the Generals. Or Admirals. You don’t have to.”

Ivan wanted to agree. He almost said yes but… “No. I’ll do it.” 

In a few months the next class would graduate from the Academy. And, traditionally, the Emperor himself always attended the assembly and took their oath of loyalty. This was the class one year behind Ivan. He knew them all, and they knew him.

Ivan took a deep breath, “They deserve to make their oaths to the Emperor. Even if it is me. I won’t let them down.” 

Aral nodded. Both men sipped the coffee one of the armsmen – one of the remaining armsmen – had delivered. 

Ivan sat back quietly for a moment. He thought of that list of Imperial Stuff I Haven’t Done Yet. And Kirilov. And instincts. He’d watched Gregor all his life. He had that advantage – he’d seen emperoring from the outside. He knew what life was like outside the Residence. He’d heard people talking, seen the problems, he knew some of their frustrations. 

This wasn’t a nightmare. It wasn’t a dream, or a game, or a mistake. This was real, and it was his life, and that wasn’t going to change. So what was he going to be – Ivan Waste of Space? Ivan the Big Mistake?

Or, maybe, Ivan the Figure it out Later. 

Right now he had things to do. Ivan straightened up again, giving Aral and Simon a level look, “It was a test, wasn’t it.”

After a moment Aral nodded, “We had to know.”

“And now?”

“You’ll do.”

“Good.”

Silence as all three men wished they had more coffee. Ivan wondered if it was possible to set up a caffeine IV. Direct into the veins, get the full hit. 

“So… you had to see if I’d stand up to you both.”

Simon put his cup down, regretfully, “And if you’d stop. We had to know where your line was.”

Thoughts ran through Ivan’s mind like startled rats. What if his line was in the wrong place? What if he didn’t have a line? What… no. Don’t go there. No wonder Gregor always looked so gloomy, if this was what his life was like ALL THE TIME. 

“Fine. In that case, we need to get ourselves sorted out.” Deep breath, it wouldn’t do to pass out just now, “First, these morning sessions. While it’s nice to spend time with you two, we all know that this is just a charade. What you’ve been bringing me each morning… it’s like… like garden snakes. Impressive but harmless. I have an office full of experienced men out there who can deal with garden snakes. I only need to see the venomous ones. That’ll save quite a bit of time.”

Aral was watching him keenly – for the first time, it seemed, Aral was really seeing Ivan, not just the family idiot. Good. So…

“Now, I want to reorganise a few things. Most of those meetings I’ve been going to – well, I’ve met all the people I need to meet, I’ve seen them in action. From now on I do meetings when I need to be there. Otherwise, hold the meeting without me and send me a memo afterwards.”

“Some of those meetings do matter.” Aral’s voice was calm, almost disinterested. But his eyes didn’t match the voice – Ivan felt like a bug on a pin. 

Fine. You want to watch? Watch me be an emperor. “Then I’ll go to those ones. You’ll know which to choose.”

“And what are you doing with all that free time?”

Deep breath again. Pause to marshal thoughts. “I need to spend some time in the.. my… District. I’m not just Emperor, I’m Count Vorbarra. A few days each month to visit my personal properties, meet the staff, deal with District issues. They deserve some attention.”

Aral nodded, “Cordelia has been overseeing Gregor’s District possessions. She was in charge until he came of age, and after that she kept an eye on things when he was busy. She’d be happy to show you around and suggest some improvements.”

So the reward you got for doing a good job was… several days a month in the company of your terrifyingly Betan aunt. Wonderful. She’d probably suggest setting up a therapy centre. Or the Barrayaran version of the Orb.

Mind you, that might be… 

No. 

Simon was still quivering in a very well-controlled ImpSec kneejerk hissy fit at the idea of hordes of needing-to-be-security-checked people having contact with the emperor. “Sire, if you really do intend to … mingle…. with groups of…. people…. It will need to be carefully managed. I would suggest that your social secretary take charge and organise regular meetings with civic groups. We can see how it goes after that.”

Marvellous. More time with his mother.

Aral nodded, “Will there be anything more, Sire?”

His first big efforts as Emperor meant that he’d be spending more time with Aunt Cordelia and his mother. Once again Ivan had to admire the passive-aggressive skills of the two men in front of him. He sighed, “No. That’s enough for today.”

As they filed out Aral paused and turned back, “Yesterday…. Just for a moment... you reminded me so much of Padma. I only saw him really lose his temper a few times in his life, but when he did it was very controlled, and quiet. And productive. Most of the time he seemed so relaxed and easy-going that people didn’t realise just how smart he was. He found that very useful.” A nod and he was gone.

Ivan stared at the closed door. Dammit, was every day going to be like this?


	4. Entertaining the Emperor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles helps out.

Emperor Ivan Vorpatril Vorbarra surveyed the latest Imperial Ball as it swirled around him. He’d noticed that there was always a pattern at these things – in fact, he’d noticed several patterns. 

In the Good Old Days he’d be out in a gazebo or rose garden right now, with a nice bottle of wine, a not-so-nice young lady, or better yet both.

But Emperors can’t sneak away. Everybody watches him. That was one of the patterns. 

He looked around again, careful not to make eye contact with anyone, and watched the eddy and flow. Several Counts were doing the Imperial Sidle. This involved two or three of them engaging each other in an animated conversation, oblivious to all around them, until they accidently – Oh my goodness, Sire, so sorry, didn’t see you there, nice ball isn’t it, now if you have a moment there’s just one little thing…

Ivan enjoyed wandering around, avoiding the Sidlers. It was amusing watching the frantic direction changes as each group tried to accidently bump into him. On a good night he could make a few groups bump into each other.

Then there were the Huntresses. Some were fixed-grin Mamas with a well-groomed Vor bud in tow - groomed, coiffed, gowned, armour-plated by their Vorish respectability. And as enticing as an armour-plated tank. Then there were the other predators – widows, some wives – all with the souls of determined courtesans. A young, single, carefree Ivan would have leapt into their open arms with glee. But now there was no thrill of the chase, and every time he got close to a fragrant bundle of prospective delight his mother would descend on him to scare away any possible fun.

Ivan drifted aimlessly through the ballroom, his armsmen unobtrusively clearing a path.

Around the edges of the ballroom were the Wheeler-Dealers. Again two types – domestic and imported. Domestic were mainly a less subtle version of the Imperial Sidlers. They either wanted to sway him on a political decision, or talk him into funding for some kind of business deal. Business and politics were pretty much interchangeable at this level, anyway. The imported ones were Nexus diplomats and trade envoys. Same goals, larger scale. Aral and Simon took care of most of that anyway. 

He’d done his duty dances with the assorted female diplomats, and wives of male diplomats, and High Vor dragons, and anyone else his mother could attach him to. Now he was into avoidance mode – keep moving, nod and smile but don’t stop to talk, try to look like you have serious business in mind and hope it all ends soon.

As he paused to snag another glass of wine – no chance of stealing a whole bottle any more – his ingrained sense of self-preservation signalled for a quick room-scan. And not before time – straight ahead was his mother, bearing down on him with a steely smile, sweeping two hapless Vor buds along with her. Urgent escape route required…

A glance to the left – Aral approaching with the Escobaran Ambassador, three-time winner of the Most Boring Diplomat in the Nexus award. Ivan felt almost comatose just looking at him. An entire conversation was known to leave hapless victims in need of resuscitation, or desperately chewing their own legs off to escape. 

Swivel right – Count Falco Vorpatril, who seemed to think that, as Ivan’s former head of family, he had some special claim to Imperial attention. Especially as it related to some tedious water rights dispute that Ivan didn’t understand and if he had to hear a full explanation one more time his ears would melt in sheer self-defence. 

Sharp about turn, move briskly forward and - 

“Oof – Oh, Miles, didn’t see you there.” Typical Miles, always a superb tactician.

“Sire. How lovely to see you. Nice ball. But that’s enough about you. I need a quick word… perhaps you wouldn’t mind moving your Imperial feet a little faster… that’s the way… just along here, through this archway – thank you Armsman, perhaps you could stay there and help any lost partygoers get back to the main ballroom – now down this way, and here we go…”

It was always far easier to just go along with Miles; trying to resist simply prolonged the whole situation. Besides, it meant something interesting was going to happen. As an extra plus, it got him out of the ballroom. And no matter what happened, he could blame it all on Miles. 

Win-win, all round. 

Ivan was still congratulating himself on his good fortune when Miles shot him.

 

 

Ivan woke to the hiss of a hypo-spray. He waited for a moment as the Synergine started to battle the glories of the post-stunner migraine. As soon as he could focus he glared at the small figure in front of him, “Miles, you idiot! You shot an Emperor! That’s treason, you – you triple-damned idiot! If anyone finds out you’ll be in serious trouble. What’s going on, anyway?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Ivan tried to sit up, and decided it really wasn’t necessary yet.

“For trusting me.”

“I trusted you and you shot me. I may rethink.”

“I mean after you woke up. You don’t think this is some kind of grab for the Imperium.”

“You’re not that stupid. Although this runs pretty close. What the hell is happening, anyway?”  
He managed to sit up this time. They were in - somewhere dark was his first assessment. The dim light filtered through a low door opening onto some kind of narrow passageway. The room wasn’t much bigger than a cell, with a couple of bunk beds and nothing else. “Where are we?”

“A cell.”

“Cutting out the middleman. Good thinking. A cell where, dammit?”

“Under the Residence. Don’t you remember, when we played here we found all kinds of dungeons and cells deep under the Residence? Fortunately we were too young to understand what some of the decorations were used for.”

“If you intend to torture me, please wait until the stunner migraine is gone. I can’t concentrate on pain when I’m in pain.”

“Ivan, I’m not torturing you. I’m rescuing you.”

“Sorry, I didn’t notice the subtle difference.”

“It was just a stunner. Stop whining.”

“So why do I seem to have a lump on the back of my head?”

“You fell down when I stunned you.”

“And why do I have aches and pains all down my body? What the hell did you do to me?”

“Nothing! I just dragged you down here. Well, ok, I sort of rolled you down a few staircases. And I may have dropped you, a bit, through the trapdoor. You’re quite heavy, you know?”

“Miles! What are you rescuing me from?”

“Ok, right, well you see I was watching the ball, watching the patterns.”

“So was I. It’s not necessary to stun me to rescue me from the Counts. Stun them. Please. And maybe a few Vor buds, but don’t even think of stunning my mother - nothing could save you if you did that. As for the Escobaran Ambassador – he’s self-stunning.” Ivan leaned back for a moment until the coloured spots to fade a little more. “So. Patterns. I’m saved. From…?”

“Ah, well, I watched the patterns around you. And I noticed a particular waiter.”

“The waiters are all ImpSec.”

“Mostly ImpSec. Some are Residence staff. I don’t know which this one was, but he was tracking you.”

“Probably. It takes a lot of wine to get through Imperial balls.”

There was a pause as both of them considered all the possible answers to that one. 

“So… the waiter…?” Ivan prompted them back on track.

“Yes. The waiter. Tracking you, which might just show admirable dedication to his job. Especially as he wasn’t interested in offering drinks to any other guests. And when they did take a drink from his tray, he’d shuffle it, subtly, to guide them away from a certain glass.”

“Poison?” 

“We’ll soon know. I sent a quick message to ImpSec. They’ll get the glass tested.”

Ivan looked around the cell. Lonely cell. With nobody in the corridor outside. It seemed odd to be without a looming armsman or two. “Uh, Miles, did you tell them where we are?”

“No need. They won’t worry, you’re with me.”

“And nobody has come down here to check on us? On me?”

“No need. I told you, they know you’re safe.”

“Just what did you say to them?”

Miles flicked a button on his wristcom. His recorded voice was thready in the dim cell, “I have the Emperor. He’s where nobody can find him. Poison in the wine glass.”

Ivan closed his eyes, imagining what was going on in the rooms above them. “Miles, you don’t feel that your message is a little ambiguous?”

“I was out of breath – I told you, you’re heavy! Besides, they know you’re with me. Why would they worry?”

Self-control. Banging his head on the wall wouldn’t help the migraine. “Miles, I think I’d better check in with them. Just to see what’s happening.” Right now there was probably organised pandemonium up there, with ImpSec grabbing all the wine glasses, and the waiters, and herding confused guests into holding rooms for processing. And searching the Residence, in increasing panic. And initiating all of those emergency procedures that he’d been drilled on. Ivan tried to remember the processes, but since most of them started by hustling Ivan into a safe location he hadn’t really paid much attention to the rest. 

Well, he was in a safe location. 

Ivan closed his eyes for a moment, tried for calm focus, and pushed the button on his wristcom. “Uh…. hello?” Oh yes, very Imperial. He didn’t look at Miles. 

A burst of excited voices resolved into Simon Illyan’s controlled calm, “Sire. Are you alright? Where are you?”

And then the sound of an explosion, and the sound cut off. 

Ivan looked at Miles, “Uh… what…”

Miles tried his wristcom again. Ivan hit the buttons on his. Nothing. 

“There seems to be a problem.” Miles was keeping his voice steady. 

“Yes.” Keep calm. It was important to keep calm. Running and screaming in this little cell would be uncomfortable. 

A certain calculating gleam in Miles’s eyes made Ivan sit up again, “Miles! I request and require that you do NOT lock me in here while you go and save the day! I mean it!”

“But Ivan, my duty is to protect you while the situation is dealt with.”

“And, Miles, my duty is to protect my subjects. Dammit, our family is up there. And half the diplomats on Barrayar. And my armsmen, and ... and just about everyone we care about. And I’m not going to sit down here nice and safe while… I’m going up there!”

It took three tries, but Ivan made it to his feet. “Now, weapons. What do you have?”

Miles only had a stunner, but he also had a somewhat unsettling cache of weapons in a nearby cell. His explanation – ‘just in case’ – didn’t really reassure Ivan much, but he was too busy grabbing a heavy-duty stunner, a neural disruptor and a needler. Also a couple of knives and a sonic grenade. He noticed that Miles was making an unsettling number of weapons disappear into various pockets and holsters. “Oh, and I give you permission to draw a weapon in the Presence. But not to shoot me again.”

“Many thanks. And for the stunning…?”

“Heat of the moment. Just don’t let it happen again.”

Up the ladder and, quietly, through the trapdoor. There was a suspicious silence in the Residence. 

Ivan realised that all the time spent as Miles’s donkey had been very useful. His sneaking skills were superb. The two men drifted down the corridors, keeping to the shadows. And their childhood spent roaming the Residence searching for Cetagandan invaders paid off, too – they knew every servant’s corridor, every hidden entrance, every back-stairs shortcut. 

The smell of smoke grew stronger. But it wasn’t from the ballroom – that golden, glittering expanse was untouched except for a few cracked mirrors. 

Ivan nodded at the mirrors, “Seven years bad luck for someone.”

Miles shook his head, “They won’t live that long.”

They separated, moving to opposite sides of the room and working down the sides. Nobody behind the curtains, nobody cowering in the small niches or behind the pillars and potted palms. 

Nothing of interest at all. Except the bloodstains on the floor. Not bleeding-to-death blood loss, more like minor wounds. And scuffed, probably in a struggle. 

Neither of them commented. Blood speaks for itself. 

They paused just outside the ballroom, “If there was an emergency they’d clear the guests out, and take you and the inner circle to the High Security room. Standard Operating Procedure.” 

“Down, then. This way.” 

“Wait. I want to check something first.” Miles headed into a small side room, one of the many useful little secluded spaces so handy during social events for some quiet diplomacy, business deals or a tumble with an eager partner. Ivan wondered what it was like using the rooms for diplomacy or business deals. 

Miles headed to the window, there was a shimmer in the air outside, “Yes, that’s what I thought. See? The emergency force-fields are on.” 

Ivan nodded, “S.O.P. again. In an emergency the shields lock the place down tight.”

“Keeping us in and all the bad guys out. Unless, of course, the bad guys are already in here..?” 

“Yes, that’s bad planning. They’ve locked us in with the bad guys.”

Miles grinned in unholy glee. “You mean they’ve locked them in here with us.”


	5. Chapter 5

They went back into sneak-mode. They’d done this so often when they were children, sneaking past servants and armsmen to reach the kitchens, or the cellars, or just a place where the adults weren’t. It was more fun when there were people to sneak around. The whole place was eerily quiet as they drifted past the reception rooms, the offices, down to the smaller rooms where people did actual work, and down even lower towards the nerve centre where ImpSec monitored the action. Down into the cellars – now the walls were stone, the floors and ceilings of time-blackened oak that was as solid as the stone itself. 

The climbed down another level, the staircases were getting narrower with each descent. The walls were still dressed stone, but rougher than those above, the floors of cold stone.

The smell of smoke hung strongly in the air; Ivan hoped there wasn’t a fire anywhere. He pictured the brigades standing outside the shields, watching the Residence burn. While he and Miles were stuck inside. On the bright side, at this level there wasn’t that much to burn. They were more likely to die when the building above collapsed in on them rather than by fire itself. How comforting.

The way he was going, his nightmares would have to draw lots or take turns. 

Ivan tried to remember the security briefings. They changed the location of the HiSec room regularly, so that if some group actually breached the Residence, which was impossible, they wouldn’t know where in the maze of cellars to start looking for the Emperor and whatever other important guests had been stashed away for safety. ImpSec paranoia at its finest. They’d changed it again after Gregor went. Twice. And briefed Ivan carefully each time. He’d paid attention, mostly, but he wasn’t supposed to need to know this, he was supposed to have armsmen and ImpSec operatives who’d scoop him up and carry him to safety. He waved towards the next cross-corridor, “To the right. The latest High-Sec room is down here.”

Halfway down the corridor they started to find the bodies. 

“We know we’re going in the right direction.”

Most were just deeply stunned, although a few had some blood loss, red glistening on the cold stone floor. Ivan wondered how much blood those stones had drunk over the years. Then he wondered if Gregor used to think like this all the time. Then he decided to stop wondering. 

They checked the fallen they went past – a couple of ImpSec men, some servants in Residence livery that were probably also ImpSec, two armsmen. And half a dozen others who wore the clothing of guests although Ivan didn’t recognise any of them. But that would be difficult in a couple of cases anyway, because of the Cetagandan face paint several of them were wearing. The Ceta ambassador and some of his staff had been at the reception, Ivan tried to remember the designs and colours they’d worn, but he hadn’t paid much attention to the lackeys. Yet another fail. Somebody, somewhere, was probably keeping score. 

Nobody was dead, which was some kind of plus. Miles collected all the weapons they could find, and they quickly patched up the worst bleeds, tearing strips off some of the guests’ shirts. They re-stunned a few of the guests who were starting to groan and rouse. Time enough to sort them all out later. 

Further along the corridor, around a corner, and then – “We’re going to need ….something big… for this.”

The corridor was blocked, mostly by bits of corridor. Something large had exploded, bringing down part of the floor above, as well as the walls. Nothing was going to get through there for some time. 

Miles kicked at some of the stones, without making any impression on the rubble, “They’re probably on the other side of this. The room’s reinforced. It’d withstand the explosion.”

Unless the explosion happened inside the room. Neither of them said it. 

“There’s another way in.” Ivan’s voice was quiet, almost whispering.

Miles glanced at him, “HiSec rooms only have one entrance.”

“Not this one. This is part of the old wine cellars, remember? The ones that had all that red wine in the dusty old bottles. And then someone – oh right, that was you – said that we really should test some of it to see if it was safe. And someone – oh yes, that would be me – ended up in hospital getting his stomach pumped.”

“I remember the bottles, yes…”

“And when we were exploring we found – “

“That little hatchway!” Miles was already running back towards the stairs. 

Fortunately Ivan could easily keep up with the bouncing little figure ahead of him. 

As they neared the hatchway – part of a long-forgotten escape system set up by Ezar – Ivan’s wristcom spluttered into life. A garbled message broke through the static. Ivan froze,   
“That’s – that’s Cetagandan.”

They’d spent most of their childhood fighting imaginary Cetagandans all over the Residence. It was hard to graft reality onto all those dreams and plans. Ivan blinked and concentrated. This is now, this is real. And Miles isn’t going first this time.

Miles reached for the hatchway. Ivan pulled him back, “Me first.”

“No way – you’re the Emperor – it’s my job to protect you.”

“It’s your job to obey me. I’m going first, this is my Residence and I’m the bloody Emperor and someone’s been blowing up bits of it and dammit I get to go first!”

“Ivan – you’re the damn Emperor and you stay where it’s safe!”

“Nowhere is safe around me. Now move!”

During the discussion they’d managed to open the hatchway. It revealed a short tunnel, which was unfortunately vertical. Luckily there were rungs attached to the wall, unluckily they’d rusted away years before. As Ivan discovered when he grabbed at one. 

The two of them arrived rapidly, together, on the floor of a small niche behind a concealed door. Fortunately, as Miles pointed out later, Ivan was underneath – if he’d landed on Miles he could have done some serious damage. Ivan wasn’t in total agreement with this. But Miles bounced fast, he’d had plenty of practice, and when the false wall panel burst open as they crashed down behind it, Miles ricocheted into the centre of the room. Ivan scrambled to his feet and wasn’t far behind when the two Cetagandans working on the control panel near the largest comconsole turned, just in time to be hit by the beam from Miles’s stunner. 

And, as it turned out, it was fortunate that Ivan was just emerging from the wall, because he could see the man who’d been blocked by the swinging wall panel, emerging from behind it with knife in hand, eyes on Miles – just in time to be shot by Ivan. 

Leaving their fallen enemies, Ivan reached for the comconsole. It had taken a hit from a plasma arc, but the Cetagandans had managed to bypass the worst of the damage, and the unit was spluttering into life, static sparkling across the screen, “Who is that! Identify yourself!”

Ivan leaned into the screen, “I’m the Emperor. Who are you?”

“Sire? Sire! Thank goodness! Sire, what is – “

Ivan cut him off, “What’s the situation out there? And in here? Has anyone reported in? SitRep!”

The static on the screen had resolved itself into the image of a harassed young Captain, “Kalakorinos, Sire.” He gabbled through an alpha-numeric string as Ivan struggled to remember the ID code for the day, “All is well out here, Sire, there’s no sign of any unrest or problems, it’s all happening in there with you. Captain Ilyan sent the emergency code, and then we lost communications just after the shields went up, we’re just now getting reports…” there was some garbled muttering in the background, “Yes, Sire, Captain Illyan has reported in, he has his situation under control. He’s making his way towards you now. And Count Vorkosigan also. We’ve also heard from – “ More background noise, there were some very confused people out there, apparently, “.. uh… from Countess Vorkosigan… and Lady Alys…” 

Ivan and Miles both relaxed a little. 

“It seems that they’ve each…er…. been resolving more of the situation…” 

Ivan and Miles tensed up again. “Resolving how?”

“Uh… nobody is dead, Sire. I don’t think. Mostly. We’ll do a head count when we get in there.”

“Aunt Cordelia is somewhere in here. Do a body count as well.” 

“Er, yes Sire. But we have to get in there – we need to get the shield down. We can’t over-ride from out here, the explosion seems to have knocked out the secure codes. Uh, Sire, could you…there should be a panel…”

Miles was already fiddling with a side panel, “Ivan, are you sure we should drop the shields?”

“He’s given the correct recognition code,” – probably - “And we can’t stay in here forever.” He turned back to the screen, “Ready your squads, Captain. And – stunners. Stunners only. Secure the building, and everyone inside, and then we can sort this mess out.”

Well, someone would sort it out. For the first time in weeks Ivan was actually glad of his position. He’d get the reports after some other poor sods did all the work. 

Miles gave a grunt of satisfaction, then looked up at Ivan, “Yes?”

Ivan sighed, he had the feeling that Miles was having a wonderful time. “Yes. Let them in.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tidying up after the party.
> 
> ..........................................

It was hours later, hours of rampaging ImpSec personnel, who Ivan suspected were working off some suppressed panic, and hours of dealing with guests who were variously confused, outraged, hysterical, stunned, grimly satisfied and just plain tired. Ivan’s armsmen practically sobbed in joy at finding him whole and safe, and had a tendency to cluster as close to him as possible, hovering like over-protective lionesses. He kept sending them for coffee to make them feel needed.

Ivan’s relatives were sticking almost as closely as the armsmen. They’d all fetched up in one of the smaller salons. Ivan stretched out in a comfortable chair and wished it was a bed in a dark, quiet room. Cordelia and Alys, both managing to look reasonably unruffled, sat on a couch near the fire sipping tea and chatting quietly as if everything was perfectly normal. Aral was quite frankly a disgrace, stretched out in a comfortable chair near Cordelia, his House uniform unbuttoned and askew, he was dosing his coffee with generous libations from several dark bottles on a table beside him. Ivan envied his ability to relax after a crisis. Aral seemed to think the whole episode was hilarious, but there was a sharp edge to his humour that told Ivan just how worried Aral had been – he was feeling profound relief now, and letting the tension unwind. Ivan found it surprisingly comforting. Miles was prowling around the room, unable to settle anywhere. Ivan was tempted to send him out to patrol laps around the Residence. 

Finally an obviously exhausted Simon Illyan strode in to the room to deliver the preliminary report. He took up a position near the fireplace, facing them all. Ivan decided he was afraid to sit down because if he did he wouldn’t be able to get up again.

“Sire. We’ve worked out a rough timeline of events.” 

Ivan nodded encouragingly. 

Simon took a deep breath, “Well, it starts with the waiter. He’s a permanent member of the Residence staff. As is his sister. His very attractive young sister. He was seriously concerned about your behaviour towards her, which seems to have pushed him into taking dangerous actions.”

Every one of Ivan’s loving relatives turned to glare at him. Ivan was outraged, “No! No, I didn’t – I did not – I haven’t touched the staff. Any of them!” Or anyone else, dammit. One more drawback of being Emperor.

Simon nodded, “That’s right. That’s what upset him. It seems that he’d heard about your reputation with the fair sex, and he was sure that his sister would catch your eye. He started making plans, looking towards a bright future, then when you didn’t respond to his sister he decided to put something in your wine, an aphrodisiac, that would render you more receptive to her charms.”

“He tried to dose you with a sex drug so that you’d bonk his sister and pay out big time.” Aral’s voice rumbled through Simon’s report-standard words. 

Ivan closed his eyes for a moment, “So no poison then.”

Simon shook his head, “No.”

“But… what about all the rest of it?”

“Ah, well, that’s where it becomes a little complicated.” 

Ivan sighed. 

“Now, Miles saw the waiter’s behaviour, and became suspicious. At which point he should have informed ImpSec,” Simon glared at Miles, “But instead he removed you from the immediate area. And from anywhere within our monitor range.”

Miles started to speak but Simon went on, a little louder, “And then there was a mysterious energy weapon discharge in the Residence, which always triggers an alert, followed by a rather garbled message from Miles, which was… somewhat ambiguous. Something about taking the Emperor. And he mentioned poison in the wine glass. All of which led to an emergency lockdown and initiation of the standard crisis response – all staff reported to designated collection areas, while the main force of ImpSec staff moved to round up all non-staff inside the Residence.”

“But I just wanted to keep him safe – “

Another Illyan glare. Miles subsided and sat down quietly, for which Ivan and his headache were grateful.

“The Residence staff assembled as per the regular drills, and names were being checked off. It was all very calm and ordered – sensible people, the staff. I took a squad to start the search for the Emperor. In the main ballroom it should have been a simple matter to clear the room and escort the guests to a safe assembly area, but things became… less organised.” Simon suppressed a shudder, “We’re still assessing testimony, but it seems that the sequence of events was… unfortunate.”

Aral snorted with laughter. Cordelia nudged him and tried to frown.

“The ImpSec men, most of them dressed as waiters of course, when given the emergency orders immediately dropped their trays and started moving into position around the ballroom ready to collect the guests and usher them to safety. The Barrayaran guests, most of whom were Vor, fell back towards the walls.”

“Good strategic move. Clear the lines of fire, head for a defensible position.” Aral nodded approvingly.

“That left the Nexus guests in the centre of the ballroom, suddenly isolated. And the Komarrans. At this point the waiter realised that he could be in trouble, so he dropped his tray and ran across the ballroom towards one of the exits. The ImpSec men gave chase, drawing their stunners and preparing to fire. The waiter tried to dodge through the guests, to slow his pursuers. The Komarrans suddenly realised that they were in a large, open room with armed Barrayans advancing on them, and they seem to have had a group flashback, assuming history was repeating itself. They panicked, and tried to run. This brought them into collision with some of the Nexus guests, and unfortunately the Betan ambassador was knocked over, and her sarong fell off.” 

Ivan wished he’d been there for that, at least. The Betan ambassador was a very well-built woman. 

“The Escobarans saw a naked woman on the floor, with a couple of Barrayarans around her, and had their own historical flashback, and assumed that it was some kind of attack, with the Barrayaran military running rampant.”

Ivan was realising that history could be a serious problem.

“The Escobarans, like the Komarrans, tried to escape, running in the opposite direction to the Komarrans. The Vor at the sides of the room, seeing the chaos heading towards them, prepared to defend themselves. Some of the women drew their Vor-femme knives. The ImpSec personnel hesitated to use their stunners on the important guests, and tried to reassure them that it was just a general emergency, not an attack on the guests specifically.” 

“No strategic sense, any of those Nexus types. Plus seriously poor weapon recognition.” Aral was busy critiquing the action.

“I don’t think they had a lot of time to spare – all of this happened very quickly, it just took a few moments. Be that as it may, the waiter was trying to dodge through the groups of guests, and the guests were scattering like… “

“Like sheep. With about as much sense.” Aral chimed in helpfully. He had settled in to give a running commentary on the report, still high on relief and Ivan’s best brandy.

“The group of Cetagandans moved defensively around their Ambassador and tried to shift him away from the panicking Komarrans and Escobarans, and the outraged Betans.”

“Say what you like about the Cetas, at least they have some military sense.”

“Unfortunately this brought them a little too close to a large potted palm where Countess Vorinnis was sheltering with her grand-daughter. Seeing the face paint she apparently had her own historical moment, and as she was, unfortunately, carrying her Vor-femme knife, she defended her family honour. She didn’t kill anyone, luckily, but she did some damage, made worse by her grand-daughter picking up a small palm-tree and swinging it wildly; it was in a heavy brass pot which caught the ambassador’s aide amidships, slowing him down considerably.”

“Healthy girl. The Vorinnis family breed them sturdy.”

“The Cetagandans made it to a door and headed out of the ballroom.”

“They’ve had plenty of practice at retreating.”

“Prime Minister Vorkosigan decided to follow them.” Simon ignored a rude snort from a certain member of the audience. “He collected a few armsmen and some ImpSec personnel and headed out after the Cetagandans.”

“Can’t have them running loose in the Residence.”

“…and, amazingly, he managed to catch up with them…”

“Countess Vorinnis and her grand-daughter had slowed them down quite a bit…”

“… and explained the situation to the Ambassador. In fact, he calmed them down and they were about to accompany him back to the ballroom and then on to one of the collection points, when unfortunately another group caught up with them. It seems that the trade delegation from Sol…. wasn’t. It was actually a hit team from Tau Ceti. Freedom fighters, who escaped when Cetaganda originally took over their planet. They’ve been waging a resistance campaign by attacking Cetagandan embassies and diplomats on other Nexus worlds. They were using the cover of a Solian trade delegation, and were observing the Cetagandans at the ball, hoping to pick up some useful information for a hit later, but when the chaos started they decided to use the opportunity. They attacked in the corridor – no energy weapons, just good old-fashioned blades that wouldn’t show up on the energy scans. We’ll need to do something about that in future.”

“They threw things, too. Nasty little bladed star things. Most impressive.”

“And they did have protective mesh under their clothing that helped to shield them from stunner fire.”

“We’ll need to check that out too. It looked very effective.”

“Prime Minister Vorkosigan realised his group was cut off and decided to fall back to the Security room. Ordinarily he’d never consider taking Cetagandans there, but if the Cetagandan Ambassador was killed in the Residence, the diplomatic problems could be extreme.”

“And we really don’t need another bloody war right now. Although it seemed odd to be protecting the buggers. I’d rather have been lining up with the Tau Cetans.”

“So they fought a spirited rearguard action and headed down to the Hi-Sec room. The Prime Minister was using his wristcom to make contact with the forces outside and explain the situation when they reached the Hi-Sec room, and they were just heading inside when the Tau Cetans fired some kind of grenade – again a very low-tech, old-fashioned weapon. No energy pulse at all.”

“Worked damn well, though. Brought down part of the corridor. The Ambassador and a couple of his men were inside the room, and cut off by the debris. The rest of us were on the other side of the fall, or under it, poor sods. We went hand-to-hand with the Tau Cetans, it all got a bit confusing with stunner fire and knives, but in the end they took off and I followed them. I only had two ImpSec men and one armsman left by then. We finally brought the tough little bastards down. Nice technique, they had. And you can’t blame them for wanting to kill a few Cetas. Done the same myself. But they really picked a bad time for it. They were damn fine fighters, though. Gave me the best workout I’ve had in years.”

Cordelia sighed in exasperation and patted Aral’s hand, “You’ll be impossible for days after this, I know. Honestly, men!”

Simon ignored the interruptions and ploughed on, “When the Tau Cetans threw the grenade they also activated some kind of jammer that blocked all comm links inside the Residence, and through the shields, so communications were totally disrupted, which caused considerable consternation to the ImpSec forces assembled outside the Residence who had received a confused message about the Emperor apparently being kidnapped or poisoned, and then they had another garbled message about the Prime Minister, Cetagandans and fighting. The officers outside the Residence became very concerned, and they declared it a full emergency situation, Level Two. I believe this overstated the danger a little.”

“Masterful understatement, Simon. They went into a flat spin trying to get in and find out what was going on and somebody panicked.”

Ivan closed his eyes for a moment, sharing Simon’s obvious pain. Level One was a full-scale planetary invasion. Level Two almost as bad; a widespread civil unrest or attack of some kind, involving immediate danger to the Emperor. All military personnel were placed on immediate alert, vessels in space were likewise brought to attack readiness, forces moved to defend major planetary installations. This caused major disruption across the entire planet. He sighed, “I’d have called it a Three maybe.”

Simon shook his head, “A Four, I’d say. But then I served with Admiral Vorkosigan.”

Alys looked up, “But the poor boys out there must have been terribly worried – after all the place was locked down, incommunicado, and the Emperor was in here. Also the Prime Minister, the Head of ImpSec, and most of the Counts. As well as a great deal of the Nexus diplomats and trade delegations – anything could be happening.”

Aral laughed, “The Head of ImpSec was in here – and me, and Cordelia – and some of the most viciously dangerous old Countesses you’ve ever seen – there was really no need to worry. Certainly no excuse to lock the whole planet down.”

Ivan tried to imagine the chaos out there… no. He was beginning to wish he’d stayed down in the cellars. 

Simon ploughed on grimly, “The Prime Minister brought his prisoners back to the ballroom. And helped herd the stragglers along to one of the collection areas. Lady Alys had taken charge in the ballroom, restored calm, and overseen the removal of the guests in an orderly fashion. The Prime Minister was forming up a group to return to the Hi-Sec room when communications resumed.”

They all turned to look at Alys. “It was a disgraceful shambles. It’s bad enough having all my plans disrupted, but there’s no need to lose all civilised standards. Someone had to step in.”

“Er… yes. And you stepped most effectively, my lady.” Simon nodded respectfully. “However, there was another problem. A contingent of Jacksonians, part of one of their trade delegations, decided to leave the main group as it moved from the ballroom. According to them they were accidently lost. But it is more likely that they decided to look for high-value artworks, or information they could use later. Fortunately Countess Vorkosigan followed them. She…dealt with them.”

Ivan was afraid to ask. Simon seemed to be supressing a shudder. “There was no damage to any artworks. Although the carpet in the Long Gallery will need serious cleaning, or possibly replacing. And some of the tapestries were…spattered. Oh, the ceremonial Dendarii knife display in the Blue Salon will need to be refurbished. A small table in the Western withdrawing room needs to have some…stains…. removed. And several bookshelves in the Day Library are down.”

Cordelia shrugged, “I didn’t have a weapon, so I had to improvise. They were quite persistent and the discussion carried on through several rooms, but we came to a mutually satisfying understanding in the end.” 

“Yes. After which those who were still conscious dragged the rest of their group back to the assembly area, where Lady Alys was organising refreshments and first aid.”

Well, at least they all kept their heads. Ivan wondered what it was like on all those boring planets where top politicians and diplomats weren’t capable of major bloodshed. And didn’t need to be. 

Simon tried to regain the thread of his report, “Meanwhile my team was systematically searching the Residence for the Emperor, and Lieutenant Vorkosigan. We discovered several guests who had accidently strayed into other sections of the Residence while appreciating the artwork on display, or looking for refreshments. There was young Lord Vormuir with Lady Olga Vorlakial - her betrothal to Lord Vorkalis was announced last week. Also Lord Selig Vortifrani with Lady Vortienne – her husband was apparently away on business. And Lady Donna Vorrutyer with young Lord Vorvane and Lord Ernst Vortugalov. We also found Henri Vorhovis with one of the serving-maids. Dowager Countess Alexandra Vorgier with Count Vorsmythe. Lady Serafina Vorgarin with one of the footmen. And Byerly Vorrutyer with Lord Vlad Vorville. In each case we waited until the lords and ladies had resumed their clothing, and then organised them in groups and sent them to the assembly area.” 

“Alexandra Vorgier with Count Vorsmythe – that’s been the worst-kept secret in Vorbarr Sultana for the last thirty years.” Aral sipped his brandy-flavoured coffee. Or, by now, his coffee-flavoured brandy.

“We’d barely started the search when the explosion took out communications and the situation became more urgent. After clearing the upper rooms we proceeded to the cellars.”

“Plenty of good stuff down there.”

“Shortly after that our communications were restored. I was able to get clear vision on my wristcom unit. So I saw the Hi-Sec room, and the Cetagandans trying desperately to send reassurance to the troops outside. And then I had an excellent view of the Emperor bursting into the room and shooting the Cetagandan Ambassador.”

“Nice shot, too.”

“As it was an over-ride channel, that pic went out unencrypted. So that all Barrayar saw it. As did all vessels in orbit, including a Cetagandan vessel that had observed the nearby Barrayaran fleet going to combat readiness, so when they saw the Emperor shooting their Ambassador they were extremely concerned.”

Ivan started to whimper. He hadn’t had time to settle into the job yet, and already he’d started a war. 

“As you know, Sire, the Prime Minister and I each made our way to the Hi-Sec room, and arrived shortly afterwards. We were able to assist you in overseeing the incoming forces. I must congratulate you on your excellent good sense and forethought in ordering stunners only.”

One good thing. He’d managed to do one thing right.

“Fortunately we were able to drop the emergency to a Level Four, then a Five. This calmed the situation in orbit, and we arrested all the various miscreants and began Fast-Penta interrogations. We gradually sorted out the rest of the guests, sending them home or to detention, and issuing an official explanation.”

Ivan stared at him, “How the hell do you explain all of that?”

Aral laughed, “Same as we always do. Gas.”

“Well, yes, there was a lot of onion in the evening meal, but that doesn’t – I mean – uh?”

Simon took over, “Gas leak, Sire. Leading to a small explosion. It triggered an automatic security alert. The Prime Minister assisted the Cetagandan Ambassador, who wanted to contact the Cetagandans on planet and in orbit to reassure them that all was well. The Emperor realised that the Cetagandans were working on damaged consoles, and was concerned that a spark might set off another explosion, so he risked his own life to stop them and avert a catastrophe. In the ballroom some of the Nexus guests were nervous about the situation, but they were reassured by the Vor guests around them and escorted to a safe location, after which the shields were dropped and all the guests were able to go home.”

Ivan frowned, “But…the events didn’t happen in exactly that order.”

Aral laughed, “It all happened so fast, and nobody knew what was going on – besides, the Vor won’t contradict it, and the Nexus folk were too confused to remember it properly. Works every time.”

Simon nodded, “And now, we have to find out why it all happened.”

“But – you just told me.”

“I told you what, Sire, not why.”

“Uh…so.. why….”

There was a short moment for consideration, then all eyes turned to Miles.

Miles managed to turn defensiveness into outrage, “I didn’t – everything I did was to save the Emperor.”

Simon, very blank now, stared at a spot on the wall above their heads, “It seems that the main act which set off the rest of the unfortunate chain of events was the discharge of an energy weapon in the Residence. Which always causes an automatic security alert anyway, as you all know, but if it happened in the Presence then it’s much more serious – it’s treason, unless it’s being fired to defend him. Of course, if it was fired AT him, that’s treason that can’t be explained away at all. Or excused.”

There was a moment of nasty silence.

“I shot it.”

All eyes were on Ivan.

Ivan sat up straighter and kept speaking, “I shot the stunner. Miles told me that there was some extremely suspicious behaviour from one of the waiters, a possible poison plot, so I drew my stunner just in case it was needed. And I accidently fumbled and set it off. It was all my fault. Ivan the idiot, as usual.”

There was a longer silence, and then Cordelia stood up, walked over to Ivan, leant down and kissed him on the forehead, then went back to her seat.

Simon nodded, his calm mask slipping enough to show a moment of relief. Then he turned to Miles, “But, Lieutenant Vorkosigan, why didn’t you follow standard procedure? You should have reported your suspicions to a superior officer.”

Miles sat up straighter and tried to look like an efficient officer, “But sir, he could have taken a drink at any moment. In my judgement the situation was too urgent to waste time.”

Simon sighed, “Miles, notifying your superior officer – about anything – is not classified as a waste of time.”

Miles waved in agreement, or at least acknowledgement, “But also… I was obeying the Emperor’s orders.”

Ivan jumped to his feet and glared at his cousin, “Miles, at no time have I ordered you to kidnap me and drop me into the cellars – “

“But you wanted me to cheer you up. Liven things up a bit. I was just being … helpful.”

Several family members started speaking at the same time, explaining the small but crucial difference between livening things up and causing a major interstellar war. 

Alys stood up, moved over to her son and hugged him, “Ivan, I’m so glad… you did well. All of it, you did it all so well. I’m proud of you.”

Ivan hugged her, suddenly unable to speak. He turned to find Aral beside him, “Well done, boy. And thank you.” Aral’s hand rested on his shoulder. All Ivan could do was nod. 

He looked around at his family, busily trying to explain reality to Miles, at increasing volume.

Ivan wondered what Gregor did to make everyone stop talking. 

“Silence!”

Well, that worked. Mostly because they were all so surprised, but whatever works, works.

Take a deep breath, “Miles. We thank you for your efforts on Our behalf. We believe you’ve livened things up enough to last Us for some time, so although We’ll be desolated by your absence We believe it’s time for you to rejoin your Dendarii mercenaries. No doubt Simon has some missions all lined up just waiting for you.” Ivan surveyed the rest of his exhausted family, “Now, I think we all need some sleep before we make any more decisions. The staff can find some rooms for you here if you wish – I’m sure there’s plenty to spare, there’s parts of this place I haven’t even seen yet. Otherwise, your armsmen, or mine, will see you home if you prefer to go. Simon, I need to have a chat with you tomorrow, tomorrow afternoon, about security in the Residence, secure communications, and background checks on guests and staff. Aral, I’d like you to drop in on the Cetagandan Ambassador tomorrow, just a friendly casual visit to see how he’s feeling and smooth things over if necessary. I’ll have my secretary make an official appointment with him later in the week. Mother, I’d like you to smooth things over with the High Vor. Also you may need to drop hints to certain Countesses about the liaisons their grand-daughters, and grandsons, are making. And about their behaviour at the Residence.” He tried not to think about his own, similar behaviour in the good old days before the Empire fell on him.

Overawed by his air of command, or just too tired to argue, they all nodded and started to file out. “Oh, and Cordelia… uh… thanks. For not beheading anyone or burning the Residence down.”

She grinned, “I’m slowing down in my old age.”

“And… I need to talk to you later this week, about Vorbarra District matters. I have a lot of catching up to do.”

“You’ll do fine.” She patted his arm and headed for the door. 

The Emperor of Barrayar sighed in relief as his family left him in peace. Then he surrendered to his armsmen and valet. Sometimes it was nice to be looked after.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ivan-You-Emperor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374229) by [Zoya1416](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416)




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